


Three Years Later

by earlybloomingparentheses



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Series, but no explicit depictions of either, from tumblr, reference to bodily mutilation, reference to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlybloomingparentheses/pseuds/earlybloomingparentheses
Summary: Outside the train station in Philadelphia, snow whips through the air, flakes stinging Alana’s face as she hurries, head down, for the row of glass doors.





	Three Years Later

Outside the train station in Philadelphia, snow whips through the air, flakes stinging Alana’s face as she hurries, head down, for the row of glass doors. She wraps her scarf tighter around her neck. Another hour, maybe more, and she’ll be back with Margot and their son, in the warm, walled home they’ve kept for themselves these past three years: a port in a storm. A fortress, with a moat to keep out the monsters. 

She trains her eyes on the ground, watching for ice, and nearly runs into him.

“ _Will_.”

The word drops from her mouth without warning. There he is. Every muscle in her body immobilizes. There he is, in front of her, black curly hair under a grey knit cap, dark beard, blue-grey eyes widening in shock. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice comes out low, nearly a hiss. 

“I—”

“No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know anything.” 

She’s reaching for her knife. She doesn’t carry a gun, not on public transit, but there’s a small lethal switchblade in the lining of her jacket and her leather-gloved fingers move discreetly towards the slit inside her pocket.

“Don’t,” Will commands. He raises his hand. Something looks wrong about him. Something off. She can’t place what it is.

“Hannibal—” she begins.

“He isn’t here. Not yet.” His eyes flick to her pocket with a momentary glimmer of curiosity, a small bright echo of an old life they’ve both long since buried. “Weapon or cell phone?”

“Weapon.” She hadn’t even thought of calling the police. Her heart is thudding in her chest, images of her violated home blossoming across her eyes: blood on the walls, blood on the floors. She forces her voice to be steady. “Has Hannibal come to keep his promise?” 

Will shakes his head. “We’re not here for you. But he has a long memory. Take Margot and your son and go. Get out of town. Somewhere far away.”

“Will—”

“He’s made other promises since then, and so far keeping those has proven more important to him. But I don’t think he’d pass up an opportunity.”

“How long?”

“A few days. A week. Then we’re gone.”

She nods. He reaches up absently and pulls off his hat, shaking his curls loose. His face, for the first time, turns hesitant, and he looks as though he might speak again. But Alana’s eyes have traveled to his left ear. It’s…incomplete. The earlobe is gone. Sliced off, neat and smooth, with a blade that must have been sharp and paper-thin.

Her gaze flies suddenly to his hand. She knows why something looks wrong about him now. He’s missing his little finger.

Another clean cut, surgical, precise. Stitched up carefully. Lovingly.

“What is he doing to you?” she gasps out. Nausea slams up through her stomach. The nub of his finger, healed, clean, is disturbing in a way she cannot begin to articulate. 

He looks at her silently, taking in the horror and concern writ large across her face. Maybe she can still save him, she thinks desperately. Maybe this time, she can save him.

“Nothing I don’t want,” says Will.

A great wave of terror crashes over her and she stares for another frozen second at his face—set, expressionless, impossibly remote—and then turns on her heel and runs. Runs for light, and noise, and the warm grasp of her family, who are still safe, still savable.


End file.
